The Breaking of an Old Woman's Heart
by June Goddess
Summary: This takes place in the beginning of Hook when Peter, his wife, and their kids are at Wendy’s in England, before he sees Wendy again. This is in Wendy’s point-of-view. Be sure to let me know what you think.


This takes place in the beginning of _Hook_ when Peter, his wife, and their kids are at Wendy's in England, before he sees Wendy again. This is in Wendy's point-of-view. Be sure to let me know what you think.

**_The Breaking of an Old Woman's Heart_**

**June Goddess**

I am sitting at my mirror, watching the reflection of the falling snow outside the frost-covered window. My grand-daughter Moira had told me she was bringing her family to visit. They would be arriving any moment now. _He_ would be arriving any moment now.

Peter. It has been ten years since I have seen him. It has been even longer since he has forgotten who he was. Who he still is. But I have not forgotten. I shall never forget the boy who swore he would never grow up. But he did grow up. For her.

I know I should not feel jealous of Moira. She is my own flesh and blood! But she did what I dreamed of always doing, ever since I awoke to his cries. I see my own wistful smile in the mirror. The smile is set in such an old face. The smile fades. There was a time when I was offered agelessness. I wonder what would have become of me then. What of Peter…

I turn away from the mirror. It would not do to dwell on what could never be. I have lived my life, I think to myself. I have lived it well. I have no regrets.

"There are no regrets." I face myself in the mirror once more. "_None_. And I am most certainly _not_ jealous of my own grand-daughter."

A sudden gust of wind from an open window in the hallway sends my own door falling open on silent hinges. I feel a slight chill as the winter air touches my paper-thin skin.

I hear noise from the parlor. I stand and turn toward the door in a haze. I hear voices. I walk to the doorway. I hear _his_ voice. My heart stops in my breast. My breath catches in my throat. I listen more carefully, to make sure. I feel a smile pull my lips. My heart begins racing – no, flying! – my breath escapes in a sigh of happiness, almost a giggle, and I run to the stairs. Just before I reach the stairs, I stop and take a deep breath.

And I see him. I see his smile. I am so filled with emotion I could burst from it. I am at a loss for words as my old eyes drink in the sight of Peter. _My _Peter. He is about to turn away. He has not yet seen me. But my lips part, and I say, "Hello boy."

He looks up at me and stops. He slowly walks forward. There is something in his eyes as he looks at me. He seems to be… confused. But why is that? He is looking at me, but he does not seem to understand my appearance. Is he remembering? "Oh, Peter," I murmur to myself softly.

I see Moira standing beside him. She is smiling and talking, but I cannot hear her words. Neither can Peter. He ignores her and continues looking at me. Her smile fades, and I know she knows. Not everything, of course. But she knows something. She knows that there is a part of Peter that will never belong to her. A part of his heart that will always remain closed to her. The part that is mine.

Part of me longs to crow with happiness, the way Peter once taught me. Another part of me is ashamed for feeling such joy in the face of my dearest grand-daughter's despair. That part of me fades though, as Peter's eyes keep on mine. I see blue skies filled with cotton-candy clouds. I see ancient and mysterious mermaids rising from the murky depths of the sea in the light of the full moon. I see a pirate's ship filled with a boisterous crew sailing with the wind. I see Peter. I see Peter Pan. I see the boy who offered me eternity.

I see him turn away as his children, my great-grandchildren, distract him with their play. I see him smile a father's smile full of a father's pride as he watches them. He turns to Moira and smiles a husband's smile full of a husband's love for his own dear wife. And he turns to me. His eyes are clear of any remembrance. And he smiles. But only the smile of a man greeting an old woman.

And I feel the breaking of my old heart. Again.


End file.
